


you're the one i want to want me

by seventhstar



Series: Viktor Is Luna Lovegood: The AU [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Blow Jobs, Hand & Finger Kink, Honeymoon, M/M, Polyjuice Potion, Rimming, Self-cest, Selfcest Through The Power Of PolyJuice, nerdy dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 14:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16788640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: Yuuri makes Viktor Polyjuice Potion as a birthday present. They spend their honeymoon exploring it--and each other.





	you're the one i want to want me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thishasbeencary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasbeencary/gifts).



> i did it for the dick boat  
> happy birthday yuuri katsuki

Yuuri is better at potion-making than Viktor is.

Yuuri is better than Viktor at a lot of things: flying, remembering what episode of Hell’s Kitchen they were on, not making things explode, video games, nonverbal magic, knitting. He flies Viktor places. He keeps their house from burning down. He makes Viktor hats and scarves.

And he brews Viktor potions: healing salves, hair conditioners, color-changing nail polish...and sometimes, just for fun, Yuuri will brew something really difficult. Partly to show off. Partly because he enjoys it. Partly because complicated magic turns Viktor on.

(Yuuri also makes his own broom polish and other quidditch-related potions. And dog shampoo.)

This is how Yuuri ends up making Polyjuice Potion in the Team Japan locker room. It takes him forever, long enough that he can’t secretly make the potion at home. He has to stew the lacewing flies, find somewhere to pluck fluxweed at the full moon (he could buy some but since he and Viktor share a Hexa credit card, Viktor will notice) and buy the rest of the ingredients, most of which are expensive and finicky and none of which smell particularly good.

Luckily, he’s brewing it in a locker room, so no one notices.

When the potion is finally done, Yuuri is triumphant for approximately five whole minutes. Then he realizes he’s made a cauldron of foul-smelling tar and that he’s covered in bits of boomslang skin. Profoundly unsexy. _I should have gone for the felix felicis,_ he thinks, but Yuuri’s already done that and obtaining the ingredients was like riding a broom with hemorrhoids.

Besides, Yuuri is never going to top ‘brewing felix felicis to make my boyfriend an engagement ring, carrying him drunkenly out of a World Cup afterparty for some very enthusiastic and public victory sex, proposing to him while mostly naked on the pitch, and eloping the day after to avoid having to explain anything to anyone’. And even if he could, he has strict instructions to not cause any scandals.

“Damn,” Yuuri says. He stares into the cauldron. “What do I do with this?”

He could take it, he supposes, but he doesn’t have anyone’s DNA on hand right now, unless he wants to wring out the sweat of a teammate into a vial, which, no. He sighs; he doesn’t want to show it to Viktor without a really impressive demonstration.

Shrugging, Yuuri ladles the potion out into single serving vials and puts them into his bag. He can stash them in the box of sweatpants at the back of the closet that Viktor keeps trying to convince him to throw away. Viktor just wants more room to store magical theory texts and earrings. Neither of them are willing to cross the line by removing anything in the closet; hopefully if Yuuri hides the Polyjuice in there Viktor will never know about it.

* * *

“Do you want those for your birthday?”

“Hmm?” Viktor looks up, forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. He has a jewelry catalog open on the table. “What?”

“Those earrings.” Yuuri points at the catalog. “Do you want them for your birthday?”

Viktor’s expression is immediately offended, which Yuuri thinks is unfair; this is Viktor’s first birthday since they got married, the stakes are definitely high. Yuuri can’t just blow him. (Well, Yuuri could. And probably will. He just also needs an actual gift.)

“Why would I want some hideous twenty carat emerald-cut diamond studs?”

“I don’t know what any of that means.”

Yuuri actually does know what it means, he’s learned a bit about jewelry in the process of trying to buy Viktor jewelry he likes and in the process of monitoring his jewelry-making experiments and the resultant flames. His latest thing has been trying to make diamonds from coal, using only charms and without transfiguration. They’ve already had to replace one window.

Also, Viktor owns a pair of earrings that looks suspiciously like the ones he’s denigrating. He’s wearing one of them right now.

“I need this silver polish, we have some tarnish on the equipment at the lab, I think it’s nargles. Can you—”

Yuuri flicks his wand without looking; Viktor’s wallet flies across the room and lands gently on the table.

“Thank you, darling.”

“Hey,” Yuuri says, as he eats bacon directly out of the pan, “what do you want for your birthday? Besides the Maldives.”

He and Viktor are going on vacation together over Christmas, taking the honeymoon trip they had to put off after they eloped so that Viktor could finish a time-sensitive experiment. One International Award for Magical Advancement later, the time has come. They’ll swing by St. Petersburg for New Year’s, to be with Viktor’s parents, but they’ll have almost two weeks in the sun, by the ocean, in a secluded wizarding resort. Yuuri is looking forward to it immensely; Viktor will probably get a sunburn on day one and then Yuuri will have to insist he stay inside, in bed, naked, for the rest of their trip. For his own protection.

“Hmm,” Viktor says. He taps the catalogue with his Hexa card and it beeps loudly to signal a successful payment. Phichit unveiled his magical credit card reader earlier this year, and already it’s near-ubiquitous. It turns out that no amount of wizarding snobbery can stand in the face of instantaneous payment—not to mention not having to carry ridiculously large coins everywhere and do a lot of complicated math just to make change. “Surprise me.”

* * *

Viktor tastes good.

As soon as Yuuri adds his hair to the potion, it turns a bright, pure silver; it smells like Viktor’s hair and tastes sweet, like the buttercream scent of Viktor’s lip gloss. Yuuri downs the entire vial in one go.

He feels the change immediately. It’s like he’s been transported into an Animorphs book. His bones soften and reform, his internal organs writhe inside him like he’s swallowed a bag of rats, his skin hurts as his growing body stretches it--and then it’s over.

Yuuri blinks. Everything is blurry; he tries to put his glasses on, realizes he’s still wearing them. Once they’re off, everything comes back into focus. There are Viktor’s hands, white and soft, with burn scars dotting the backs of his fingers and no calluses from hanging onto a broom or throwing a quaffle. There are Viktor’s always freezing toes.

His wedding ring has adjusted to fit Viktor’s finger.

He stripped down before he drank the Polyjuice; he knows from experience Viktor cannot fit into his shirts. There was a brief period, at Hogwarts, where Viktor could. Then he hit a late growth spurt and started working out, and went, as Chris once put it, “from twink to twunk”. Yuuri has seen Viktor naked in every possible context.

Yuuri still feels a little nervous looking at himself in the mirror.

It’s strange to see his expression on Viktor’s face. But there is Viktor’s blush that Yuuri so loves splotched over his chest. He fluffs his hair, and once he starts, he can’t stop. Finally he understands why Viktor does this every morning. Viktor’s ears look naked without any jewelry. He paces back and forth in front of the mirror. He’s acutely aware of his legs, of the way Viktor’s walk is different from his.

His phone beeps. Yuuri reluctantly turns away from the mesmerizing view in the mirror and checks it. It’s Viktor; he’s on his way back with the seawater samples he went out to collect. It’s sort of endearing, Yuuri thinks, that Viktor cares so much about magical field theory that he’s taking samples while they’re on vacation, or it would be if Viktor wasn’t cockblocking both Yuuri and himself.

Their villa in the Maldives is yards from the ocean; Viktor had made enough money assisting Phichit with field interference with tech to afford the most expensive one, the one that came with an entire private island. Every inch of it is luxurious: the marble counters in the kitchen, the swimming pool-sized tub…and the wide, soft white bed, with sheets that are spelled to always be cool and clean.

He bites his lip and then immediately stops—he feels vaguely guilty doing it. _Surprise,_ he thinks, _surprise…presentation is important._ Viktor has opinions about aesthetics, down to which fonts are acceptable, and though he’s likelier to be easier on Yuuri than he is on Jim From Britain Who Is Wrong About Field Formation, Yuuri still wants to impress him.

Viktor’s suitcase is open.

Yuuri takes out a pair of Viktor’s more indecent underwear, bright red with tiny straps made of lace, and puts it on. The silk whispers against his skin. _Fuck,_ Yuuri thinks, _maybe I should let him buy me some._

He turns out the lights and sets candles with pink flames all over the bedroom.

Yuuri tries to sprawl himself across the covers the way Viktor does, but what Viktor makes look effortless Yuuri finds difficult. His skin--Viktor’s skin--prickles with cold. Yuuri touches his neck; Viktor is sensitive here, he remembers, touching just beneath his collarbone. He trails a hand down his chest, feather light. There’s so much sensation that he starts to get hard, just from that: whether it’s just that Viktor is sensitive, whether it’s just that being in Viktor’s skin is too much, Yuuri doesn’t quite know.

“Yuuri!”

“Up here,” Yuuri starts to answer, before he clamps a hand over his mouth. He sounds unnerving, Viktor’s voice without Viktor’s accent. He hears footsteps as Viktor lets himself into their villa.

“Yuuri, I took a sample of the ocean water, do you think--” Viktor walks into the room. His mouth drops open. “Yuuri?”

“I lied about needing those lacewings for broom polish.”

“The salt content of the ocean might—you made Polyjuice?”

“I thought it’d be fun.”

“Fun,” Viktor repeats. His eyes are wide; he’s impressed. Yuuri is delighted. “I’ve never gotten to examine the effects of Polyjuice Potion closely before, you know.” He strips off his shirt and shorts, leaving them on the floor; he’s not wearing anything underneath. The shirt is a paisley that Viktor insists is fashionable and that Yuuri despises. As he joins Yuuri on the bed, Yuuri smiles. The potion definitely worked.

“You should probably do that now,” Yuuri says lazily. “For science.” Viktor scrapes his nails over Yuuri’s scalp. Yuuri groans; his scalp does not feel like this. No wonder Viktor’s head is always in his lap. “Fuck.”

Viktor’s fingertips trail down Yuuri’s face, tracing over his brows, his eyelids, down his cheeks and across his lips. He turns Yuuri’s head towards him, and bends down; Yuuri lets his mouth fall open as they kiss. He Viktor down towards him; he feels smaller, or maybe it’s just that Viktor’s arms are longer.

“Brain mapping,” Viktor mumbles. He puts his mouth against Yuuri’s jaw. “I miss your soft face…” Yuuri tips his head back so that Viktor can kiss down his throat—this is good for Yuuri normally but apparently Viktor’s entire neck is an erogenous zone and it feels so much better—as he digs his fingers into Viktor’s hair. It’s damp. “Khan theorizes it’s neural emulation.”

“W-what?”

“The two theories of how Polyjuice Potion maintains the user’s consciousness despite documented morphing of the brain,” Viktor says. He lays his head against Yuuri’s chest. He smells like salt. “Do you know what they are?”

“What is this, a NEWT—” Yuuri nearly bites his own tongue as Viktor pinches his nipple, hard. “Vitya—”

Viktor likes it rough. He’s always demanding Yuuri give him more, harder, faster. He leaves marks on Yuuri’s back, on his shoulders, is louder than a standard silencing charm. He wears the bruises—the indents from the locker room door, the bite marks—with pride.

When Viktor catches Yuuri’s nipple in his teeth, Yuuri finally understands why. The sensation is intense, his entire body narrowed down to that one point of pleasure. He doesn’t even care if it leaves a mark that his teammates will roast him for. Viktor’s mouth on his skin feels like it’s the only thing in the world.

“Do that again,” Yuuri hears himself say. He sounds the way Viktor does when he’s wrecked. “Harder.”

“You like it?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”

Viktor laughs; Yuuri feels it against his skin. He stares intently at Yuuri, licking his lips like he’s deciding what to do.

“Hmm,” he says. “Yuuri. Turn over.”

Yuuri rolls onto his stomach. The sheets are cool against his flushed skin, as Viktor’s fingertips skirt down his back—an entirely different sensation that it is usually—his thumbs sinking into the dimples at the base of Yuuri’s spine. He remembers with acute clarity Viktor at seventeen, pre-growth spurt, the way he’d put his hands on Yuuri with more enthusiasm than skill.

Viktor’s enthusiasm hasn’t flagged, but his skill has definitely skyrocketed.

The scrap of silk Yuuri’s wearing is tugged down; it brushes deliciously over his thighs as Viktor peels it off.

“Hey,” Viktor says, breath ghosting over the curve of Yuuri’s ass, “on a scale of one to ten, how different would you say this is from your body?”

Yuuri feels Viktor’s lips first, kissing the curve of his ass; his mouth is soft. Yuuri’s never been quite sure how—he touches his own lips, wondering whether it’s Viktor’s endless drawers of lip products or magic or just some indefinable thing Viktor has about him.

“Three.”

“Mm,” Viktor says. “And if I—” He bites. Yuuri groans—that feels different but there’s no way Yuuri is coherent enough to know how, he just knows Viktor’s skin feels everything more. He wonders if it will leave a mark. He wonders what the mark will look like when the potion wears off.

“Five.”

Viktor gently parts his cheeks then, his breath brushing warm against Yuuri’s hole. Yuuri feels it twitch and nearly bites through his own tongue. He’s made Viktor scream while eating him out—he knows too well how much Viktor likes it.

“Incidentally, the second theory regarding the mechanism of Polyjuice morphing,” the tip of Viktor’s tongue just touches him, “suggests that rather than a measurable physical cause, the maintenance of consciousness is caused by the retention of the user’s soul.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, “stop talking to me about science and eat me out already.”

Viktor immediately and enthusiastically complies. Yuuri loses himself, caught in sensation on sensation: the wetness of Viktor’s tongue, of its long firm strokes; the pressure of his lips; the sting of his nails where his fingers are dug into Yuuri’s ass; the sloppy noise Viktor is making as he fucks Yuuri open with his tongue. He feels like he’s dissolving, his whole body wrecked by the intimate touch of Viktor’s mouth, his cock grinding against the sheets. He’s crying out in Viktor’s voice, an almost perfect mirror of the way Viktor does when Yuuri spreads him open and licks him into submission. This is how he must make Viktor feel, Yuuri thinks, and that’s too much.

He nearly bites through the pillow when he comes. Viktor licks him through it, gently, until Yuuri finally gasps for him to stop.

“Yuuri.”

“Viktor.” Yuuri feels his body start to reform. “It’s wearing off.”

“Mm.” Viktor collapses on top of him. Yuuri rolls over with difficulty and lies there, his bones cracking as he shrinks, the world blurring as his eyes weaken. “Refreshus—” A burst of mint stings Yuuri’s nose; Viktor’s mouthwash spells are always too strong. But his kiss, when it comes, tastes like spearmint. “Yuuri.”

“Ten.”

“Do you make more than one dose? We’d need multiple trials to account for novelty.”

“I made a whole cauldron,” Yuuri assures him. “You only love me for my potion-making, don’t you? You’d have dated anyone who didn’t blow up cauldrons.”

“How dare you,” Viktor says. “I’ve blown up lots of things that weren’t cauldrons.”

“Happy birthday.”

Viktor cups Yuuri’s cheek. He’s seen Viktor turn the pages of rare and ancient texts; he touches Yuuri the same way, as if Yuuri’s skin might crumble away like old parchment, as if Yuuri too has secrets in him waiting to be found. It’s for Viktor that Yuuri keeps trying to surprise him. He wants all Viktor’s effort in learning Yuuri to pay off.

“I’m so happy,” Viktor says. “Can we try it the other way next time?”

Yuuri licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says, imagining Viktor in his skin. “Let’s.” He blows a strand of Viktor’s hair that’s fallen onto his face away. “Hey, what were you doing with the ocean samples, anyway?”

“Accounting for whether the salt content of a body of water affects the field formation,” Viktor says. He yawns. “There’s a study going on at Mahoutokoro about it. They’re collecting international samples.”

“Is that why the weather there is so bad?”

“Maybe.”

“The view from Mahoutokoro is great,” Yuuri says. He tugs Viktor down until his head is on Yuuri’s chest. “We should go sometime.”

“Mm.”

Viktor’s asleep in minutes. Yuuri, eyes heavy, holds out a little longer; he’s still holding Viktor tight when sleep overcomes him.

* * *

“What did I taste like?”

Yuuri yanks out a few hairs, wincing, and hands them over. Viktor is peering eagerly into his vial of Polyjuice. In preparation, he’s already naked but for the pencil behind his ear and the mismatched array of crystal studs he’s wearing. He starts to take them out as Yuuri talks. “Vanilla and lavender,” he says. “But you smelled like Amortentia.”

“What?”

“Ink and smoke and amber,” Yuuri says. He blushes. “You know. Amortentia.”

“My Amortentia smells like broom polish and the pitch after a rain and salt,” Viktor says, smiling. He scribbles something down in his notebook. Despite Yuuri’s best attempts, he’s continuing to treat this as an experiment. Yuuri’s decided he’ll just have to wait until Viktor takes the potion; then he’ll distract him as thoroughly as possible. “That’s interesting, though. I wonder if the set of smells associated with a person is a discrete magical profile. You could use it as a reliable method of identification—” He shakes his head. “I wonder what you’ll taste like, Yuuri.”

He drops the hairs into the vial. It changes color immediately, into a bright, pure gold. Viktor holds it up to his nose and sighs.

“Broom polish and salt,” he says, smiling. He downs it in one shot. “And it tastes like champagne—oh.”

Because Viktor is just unfairly good-looking, his transformation into Yuuri is smooth and gradual rather than grotesque. Yuuri watches his hair darken, the color spreading from his scalp down to the ends; the color fades from his nails; Yuuri’s broom-and-quaffle calluses ripple onto his hands.

It’s strange to look at himself. Yuuri knows he’s not ugly, but he’s nothing to Viktor, who always looks a little like he’s slipped in from another world, like he might be a drawing of a fairytale prince come to life. Even when Viktor has singed off his eyebrows and is lying sunburned and whiny on the sofa while Yuuri brews him Anti-Burn Cream, he’s easily the most attractive person in the world.

“Oh,” Viktor says. He’s admiring himself—or admiring Yuuri—in the mirror. His accent lays oddly on top of Yuuri’s voice; consonants hard where Yuuri would have softened them. “God, I remember the first time I saw you without a shirt, I thought I was going to die.”

“From what?”

“You were so hot. It was unfair. I was pasty and overplucked my eyebrows, and you had abs.”

Yuuri’s abs at Hogwarts were nothing to write home about, but he’s not going to talk Viktor out of wanting to fuck him—that’s a lost cause. Looking at them side by side is uncomfortable, so Yuuri stands behind Viktor instead; now that they’re the same height, Yuuri can easily rest his chin on his shoulder. In the mirror, their identical faces wear contrasting expressions: where Viktor is excited, Yuuri is unnerved.

Viktor scrunches up his face in the mirror and pats his cheeks. “Yuuri, you’re so soft,” he says. “I could just squish you. Last year you had that tiny belly during the off-season—”

“Don’t remind me—”

“It was so good. I wanted to just—come all over you.”

Yuuri swallows; he’s getting hard, pressed up against Viktor’s ass, thinking about how last year during the off-season Viktor had been insatiable—how he’d kept Yuuri in bed all weekend once—how he’d begging Yuuri to sit on his face and cried with pleasure when Yuuri had.

“Do you want me to have abs or not?”

Viktor trails his fingertips down over his stomach, over the faint divots between muscles. He shivers; Yuuri licks a wet stripe down the side of his neck.

“Everything about you is perfect.” Viktor runs a hand down the inside of his thigh, where Yuuri is always a little tender from sitting on a broom. Yuuri puts his hand over Viktor’s to guide him. “Trust me, I’m a scientist.”

“Sample size of one is shitty study design.”

“We’ll call it a case study.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri murmurs.

(Wizards don’t have doctorates. Viktor is hilariously bitter about this.)

He digs his fingers into the inside of Viktor’s thigh. He’s surprised by how smooth his skin actually is; Viktor’s always raved about it, begged to be between Yuuri’s legs, and Yuuri’s always chalked it up to Viktor’s rose-colored view of him.

Yuuri’s not really interested in himself. Viktor would probably fuck his own clone—Viktor has the confidence of someone who is convinced they’re attractive. But Yuuri, if faced with another him, can’t imagine wanting them—can’t imagine he wouldn’t find a way to critique himself.

With Viktor in his arms, though, it’s not like being with himself at all. The look in Viktor’s eyes, unrestrained and hungry, makes Yuuri wonder what it would be like—to see himself the way Viktor sees him.

He pulls Viktor toward the bed. Viktor lets himself be moved, until his knees hit the back of their bed. When they started trying to book a honeymoon trip, Viktor had been the one who pushed for more: a more expensive hotel, a more remote villa, the largest bed they could get. At the time, Yuuri hadn’t thought it mattered; he and Viktor had spent plenty of time fooling around in the standard Hogwarts double beds in their dorms. _Viktor was definitely right,_ Yuuri thinks, _he’s in charge of vacations from now on._

“Yuuri,” Viktor says. He pulls Yuuri down towards him. Body to body, Yuuri’s nose almost touches Viktor’s. Viktor’s skin is warm against his. Yuuri’s glasses are fogging up; Viktor lifts them off the bridge of his nose and puts them aside.

“Can you see?”

“I put a vision-correcting charm on myself earlier.”

“My eyes aren’t that bad.”

“I didn’t want to miss anything.”

“Mm.”

Yuuri kisses him. Viktor buries a hands in his hair, mouth open. The calluses on his hands rub against Yuuri’s skin. It’s entirely different than Viktor’s touch usually is; there’s friction on the back of Yuuri’s neck. He can feel Viktor getting hard against him—but then he would, Yuuri thinks, Viktor likes it rough. Viktor’s hand scrape down Yuuri’s back, pull Yuuri’s hips down against him. His cock slots between Yuuri’s legs.

“Vitya—Vitya,” Yuuri says, reluctantly—he doesn’t really want to stop kissing Viktor once he’s started. “Wait. I had plans.”

“I like plans.”

Yuuri rearranges Viktor easily—he’s lighter in Yuuri’s body, not that Yuuri can’t manhandle Viktor normally—so that Viktor’s lying in his lap, head on Yuuri’s thigh. He picks up Viktor’s hand; Viktor is completely relaxed, and it rests loosely in Yuuri’s fingers. He turns it over and presses a kiss to the center of Viktor’s palm.

Viktor’s mouth opens. “Oh,” he says.

They’d spent Yuuri’s eighteenth birthday in Hasetsu. Viktor had snuck into Yuuri’s room after everyone had fallen asleep, gone down on him in Yuuri’s creaky twin bed—Yuuri’d jerked him off afterward, his hand over Viktor’s mouth—and when they were lying there, sweaty and trying not to laugh, Viktor had licked his fingers clean.

Yuuri’d come again.

“I want to do all the things you do to me to you,” Yuuri says. He licks down Viktor’s lifeline. “I—I want you to know how I feel.”

Yuuri likes it when Viktor is gentle with him.

He traces the veins on the inside of Viktor’s wrist, green and barely visible. Viktor’s pulse is racing; Yuuri licks over his heartbeat, into the crease between wrist and palm. There’s a callus at the base of Viktor’s thumb. Yuuri sucks slowly at it, mouthing at the meat of Viktor’s hand, before drawing Viktor’s thumb into his mouth. It’s wet when he lets it slip out of his mouth; Viktor flexes his fingers.

There’s a soft touch to the head of his cock. Yuuri looks down; Viktor’s lips are just touching the tip, even as he wraps a hand around his own cock. He says something Yuuri can’t make out in Russian; he turns his head a little more to take the whole head into his mouth.

Despite himself, Yuuri stares. He’s watched Viktor blow him before, but this—there’s something obscene about seeing his own lips, his own mouth. Viktor’s mouth is so wet, so warm; Viktor must feel like this, Yuuri thinks, and he touches Viktor’s cheek.

He kisses Viktor’s palm again, covering every inch of it, following every line with his tongue like he’s telling Viktor’s fortune. The slick sound of Viktor jerking himself off gets louder, faster, as Yuuri slowly licks up Viktor’s ring finger, catches the tip in his mouth, gently bites at the pad of his finger.

There’s nothing gentle about Yuuri’s hands—he spends too much time throwing and catching and scraping them raw on a broom, no matter how many charms Viktor puts on his gloves. But Viktor can make them feel gentle so easily—sometimes after a game Yuuri lets Viktor do his nails, too, spend hours stroking his hands until he can’t take it—Viktor can transfigure pleasure out of nothing but Yuuri’s beat up fingers.

Yuuri kisses down the back of Viktor’s fingers, lingering over his ring, mouthing at the soft, thin skin on the back of his hand. Slowly, he sucks on each knuckle, while Viktor takes half Yuuri’s cock into his mouth. His tongue flattens against the underside, his hollowed cheeks make a wet sloppy noise—Yuuri puts a hand on the back of his head and forces the rest of his cock in.

He sucks three of Viktor’s fingers into his mouth. Viktor swallows him down, deeper than Viktor ever takes him, his nose touching Yuuri’s groin—the delicious pressure is overwhelming—Viktor comes all over himself, and Yuuri follows. He watches Viktor’s throat as he swallows; come runs down from the corners of his mouth.

Yuuri lets Viktor’s hand drop and picks up his other one instead; Viktor watches him with a hungry expression that Yuuri has never seen on himself and cannot imagine himself wearing, as Yuuri licks the come from his hand with long unhurried strokes.

“Oh,” Viktor says hoarsely. He rests his head against Yuuri’s lap again. “We didn’t record any data.”

“Tragic,” Yuuri says.

“You have no gag reflex at all. I’m jealous.”

“…really?”

“Mm. And your fingers are longer than mine, too.” Viktor intertwines them with Yuuri’s.

“Well?” Yuuri says. He wipes at the corner of Viktor’s mouth with his thumb; Viktor laps at it. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Twenty.”

“That’s bad science.”

“We have eight more doses,” Viktor says lazily. “I’ll design something that would withstand peer review next time.”

Yuuri lies down beside Viktor, against sheets that are already magically clean again. Beside him, Viktor blinks, and then morphs; his hair fades back to silver, his shoulders broaden, the heart-shaped smile Yuuri loves reforms on his face. It’s hot in the Maldives, hot and humid all day and all night, but still he and Viktor end up sleeping in each other’s arms.

“I really like being married to you,” Yuuri whispers. “And not just because everyone on the team was really jealous.”

“You think they’re jealous, wait until I take you to my magical theory summer camp reunion.” Viktor’s nose touches his. This close, Yuuri can see the indents under Viktor’s eyes, the patch of dry skin on his cheek. It’s weird that he thought Viktor was untouchable in school; Viktor is a huge nerd who injures himself pushing the boundaries of science and likes to squish Yuuri whenever he puts on weight. Then again, Yuuri thinks, Viktor’s been laboring under the delusion that Yuuri was cool this entire time.

“Was it strange?” Viktor asks. “Seeing me as yourself?”

“A little,” Yuuri admits. “But it wasn’t really me, you know? It was the me that exists in your head.”

Viktor nods. With a flick of his want, all the lights go out; the moonlight casts a single stripe of white light across their bed. The three studs in Viktor’s ear sparkle.

“I like being married to you too,” he says. He takes Yuuri’s hand.

* * *

“Well,” Viktor says wistfully, “that’s the last of it.”

They’ve gone through an entire cauldron of Polyjuice in under a week. Yuuri wonders if that’s some kind of record, or if Polyjuice is secretly being used by kinky couples all over the world. They’ve tried it in every possible way, including taking it simultaneously.

That had been interesting. _Totally worth being covered in boomslang skin,_ Yuuri thinks, remembering how Viktor had sat on his face. _Maybe we should do it without the potion. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with Viktor’s thighs the way they are._

“I can make another batch,” Yuuri offers. “It’ll be way easier now that I’m not doing it in the team locker room.”

“…you brewed this where?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I did it at home.”

Viktor pouts. “In a locker room,” he grumbles.

“I also got a higher score on my Potions NEWT than you did.”

“Yes,” Viktor says, “but now we’re married and you have to do what I want.”

“That’s definitely not how it works.”

“Can you make Amortentia?”

“What would you even do with Amortentia?”

“Nothing, it’s just difficult and requires a lot of stirring.” Viktor strokes his arm.

Yuuri feels his face heat. “I guess I could,” he says.

“Excellent.”

* * *

HE SAYS HE RUINED HIS LIFE! KATSUKI YUURI’S ADULTERY SCANDAL

Despite being married less than a year, it seems like the spell is already broken for celebrity couple Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov! The pair’s scandalous display at the World Cup was followed by a hasty elopement; at the time, this very paper wondered what they had to hide. Now, a source at the exclusive resort the couple patronized for their honeymoon has given us an exclusive look at what many are calling one of the most torrid affairs of our time.

“It’s terrible,” our source said. “They’re completely uninterested in each other. Instead, they have other lovers, and they’re bringing them back to the villa on their honeymoon.”

Readers, it would seem that the old saying is true: marry in haste, repent at leisure! One wonders what could be the cause of this couple’s discord.

A source close to Nikiforov described him as “Airheaded, and not very bright…definitely the kind that a playboy like Katsuki would take advantage of. He probably got sick of being second to Katsuki’s career and broke it off.”

But another source that knows Katsuki intimately said, “Yuuri’s a nice guy, but NIkiforov is completely cold and calculating…if you ask me, he’s always been after the money and he’ll take Katsuki for all he’s worth in the divorce.”

Could it be that Katsuki’s head has been turned by fame and his many fans, causing his husband to cheat on him out of jealousy? Could it be that Nikiforov, a researcher at a university, married Katsuki for money only to discover Katsuki was financially unsound and had wasted most of his prize money on a honeymoon? Could it be that the rumors are true, and these two’s relationship has been nothing more than a calculated lie aimed to make them both famous? And who are these mysterious lovers who both of them are rumored to have taken? We may never know.

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to cary for being easily bribed  
> comments are appreciated


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